


A Study in Reputations and Princesses

by elvntari



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fic Exchange, Fluff and Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 18:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19910515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elvntari/pseuds/elvntari
Summary: Luthien shows up in Brethil. Haleth doesn't know what to do.





	A Study in Reputations and Princesses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HerAwesomeShinyness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerAwesomeShinyness/gifts).



> First off, I'd like to thank Shine for giving me the opportunity to write this: it was so fun and their dynamic pulled me in instantly. Second, for those who aren't Shine: we consistently referred to Haleth as the Butch Queen of Arda, and that, I believe, deserves apprciation.

While Haleth’s reputation brought about interesting encounters, it mostly went hand-in-hand with work interruptions. No, seriously. _Constant_. Interruptions.

Today saw the arrival of the stable-hand asking about the correct way to deal with manure, a matter she was neither qualified nor interested in investigating. 

Then, of course, there was the matter of the Princess of Doriath, who for whatever reason had turned up at Brethil, asking to be shown around.

“Can I...can I deal with this later?” Haleth asked, waving a dismissive hand towards the boy. Lúthien beamed. Quite literally, in fact: the white glow of her skin illuminated the tent from inside—Haleth wondered how such a thing appeared to someone from outside. She couldn’t exactly send her away, not when she needed Thingol to like her.

Lúthien was being awfully patient. Usually, elves just demanded answers, but she merely stood and waited, her eerie white smile never so much as faltering. 

“Alright, then,” Haleth sighed. 

“I’ve heard stories about you.”

“Good ones?” Haleth reached below her desk and poured herself a glass of whiskey. It took a lot to get her drunk, but the taste appealed to her, which some deemed her insane for. She wasn’t the type to care.

“Wonderful,” Lúthien sighed pleasantly.

Haleth nodded: she'd always had cause to distrust elves, not least because they tended to view themselves as the superior species, commanding attention and reverence no matter what. She rued the days she had to call upon them for help, but it seemed she'd happened upon a more decent member of their people. She held up the bottle. "Would you like a drink?"

"Yes, if it pleases you, Chieftain." Lúthien smiled that same strange smile, the kind of smile you would imagine on someone completely dumbstruck with feelings, but that wasn't possible. This was… disconcerting.

"You're the princess, does it please _you?_ " Sucking up wasn’t something Haleth took pleasure in, but the support of Thingol was a rare thing to come by, and Lúthien's appearance signalled that it might be more likely than she’d thought.

"It does, indeed." Lúthien took a seat across from her, positioned with immaculate grace, delicate hands folded in her lap as she watched her pour the drink. "A toast to your health."

Haleth faltered, but she didn't seem to have misheard. Maybe it was a slight, a joke about her mortality; that would make more sense for someone from Doriath. She elected not to comment. Instead, she nodded, following the princess' lead and prayed that her own confusion wasn’t evident. Politics were most efficient when the opposition couldn't find a weakness to latch onto.

They drank and, to Haleth’s surprise, Lúthien downed her glass in one without so much as flinching. Perhaps this could be pinpointed as the moment Haleth’s curiosity was truly piqued; Lúthien, as it was quickly becoming apparent, was splendid and intangible in equal measures. Haleth poured her another.

"So," she said, after taking a sip of her own, "we should be discussing what I can offer you. First off, I know I may not have many men, but—" 

"Actually, that's not what I came for, Chieftain." Lúthien smiled. When she did, her eyes (so grey they were almost white) narrowed like a fox's. It made her look slyer than she probably was, but regardless, it suited her.

"Then, what—"

"I came to see you." Her smile deepened. The way she said it, the way she edged her hand over the desk. Oh.

_Oh._

Haleth could've laughed aloud. It wasn't as if Lúthien was the first person—or even the first woman—to show her any interest, but she was the first person for whom it explained every prior interaction perfectly. It was actually rather endearing. Almost as if by magic ( _and was it?_ Haleth had heard the stories about Melian, same as anyone else), she felt more at ease. Still, there was one thing.

"Your father—"

Lúthien's expression became one of pure, exhausted annoyance. Haleth knew it well. "Is a paranoid, self-centred, and controlling man; yes, despite popular concern, I _am_ aware. Let's not trouble ourselves with him."

Haleth decided that she liked Lúthien. She liked Lúthien a lot. 

* * *

Haleth was beautiful in the candlelight, Lúthien thought. It lit up her skin in tones that evoked warm summer days. Her bare chest rose and fell in tranquil rhythm as she lay there, lids closed in slumber. Her body was beautiful—truly, _really_ beautiful. Not that of someone who appeared to have been carved in marble, calculated and overly perfect: but real and soft and coaxing you to dive into. To indulge in.

Lúthien, caring little for restraint, reached out to trace the scars on her arms. Some were slight, barely there. Others nastier. All evidence of a body that had been _lived in._

 _(Had it been worth it?)_ Among the surrounding legends, there had to be anecdotes — tales that only retained their magic in first-hand accounts. Perhaps they were stories she’d eventually get to hear. Haleth would tell them in a way that no saucer-eyed villager ever could: Lúthien chastised herself for the brief loss in fantasy.

She leant forward and kissed the scar that ran across the chieftain's chin, their lips brushing against each other for just a moment as she did so. 

_(It had. It really had.)_

Haleth winced in her sleep. Bad dreams. She’d warned Lúthien of those before taking her to bed. _Just as a courtesy,_ she’d said.

Easing herself into a seated position, Lúthien began to hum. She was no musician—not like her brother—but she knew lullabies, and she knew the power that her voice could have. When the tune came to an end, she brushed the stray hair from her lover's face and pressed a kiss against her brow. "Sleep easy, Haleth," she murmured, "you deserve it." 

* * *

The Chieftain of the Haladin no longer complained of nightmares. She wasn’t certain if that could, perhaps, relate to the strange elven woman that she’d once shared a brief romance with—but there was certainly a correlation and, well, Lúthien _was_ magic. 

Either way, when she saw her off, she’d thanked her. Thanked her for her time, her friendliness, her company. For not being like her father, even. She knew all too well that they could never see each other again; that their fling was simply that: a fling. 

But when she bid Lúthien goodbye, she couldn’t help but smile; couldn’t stop the twinge in her chest—too soon to be love, but the hint of a feeling larger than a crush, and even if those beginnings would inevitably have to be stomped out, she let herself indulge in them just for a little bit. Just for a moment.

Haleth was glad of her reputation.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! If you liked this, please leave a comment down below!


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